Rumpelstiltskin Returns

The castle was empty. Only the occasional servant seen, dressed in black. Certain portraits on the walls shielded with darkened curtains, as tradition dictates. Mourners poured across castle grounds in lines of ebony, onyx, jet, raven - so many shades of black. Veiled women dabbed at their watery eyes. Men walked with their heads hung low. Only footsteps and the occasional sniffle echoed through the town as the citizens returned to their homes. Even the children were unrealistically silent. Several carriages carried off the important, the elderly, and those from lands far, far away.

The prince stared at the empty thrones of his dead parents. The queen had ruled for many years alone after the death of her husband, with power greater than a man, if our contemporary audience can believe such a thing. This is a fairy tale. Men are weak and gullible, puppets of women. The prince was 19 years old. He needed a strong wife to become king.

Of course, he chose to hold a fancy ball that would continue for three nights. As if three days is enough time to find a woman and fall in love. He invited all the single, beautiful ladies from across the land. Many traveled far and wide. Since there’s no airplanes back in “once upon a time,” we get to be creative. The princesses arrived on horseback, but what about turtleback, swanback, bearback, whaleback, and even tiny mice carried a matchstick-sized princess on their backs and then scurried into the kitchen, causing an uproar among the servants.

On the first day of the ball, the prince stared from his bedroom window in his big, feminine castle and watched the princesses and animals arrive. No pumpkin here, wrong story. Waiting inside the banquet hall for all these guests was food piled on top of food. And, of course, there was alcohol involved. What good is a party without booze? Let’s call it “bumble berry peach fuzz punch."

The sun set, and the sky slowly turned from blue, to pink, to black. The full moon shined brightly down on the purple tinted castle. Tall towers escaped into the darkness of the night sky, except for one. Hundreds of windows lit up as the many servants of the household lit candles, lanterns, anything to keep the brightness of the day inside just a little bit longer. A small band of young men played instruments in the ballroom, and the happy, upbeat music spilled out the large open front doors to the front lawn where latecomers still arrived at random.

Once all the guests had arrived, minus the few that died in treacherous travels, the prince found he could not escape his grief long enough to go down to his ball and confront his guests. As the ball continued without him, the prince stayed in his bedroom, wondering if he had planned the party too soon after the loss of his mother.

The prince’s room was once his parents’. The large, king mattress was enveloped in a white canopy, hiding the unmade bed. Dresser drawers remained open, clothing oftentimes spilling out of them. The closet doors were ajar, unable to close due to the amount of clothes on the floor: an abundance of the same white shirts and the same black pants. Dust covered the vanity in the corner. The queen’s perfumes and makeup remained untouched because the prince refused to allow the servants to remove or even go near them.

He heard a knock at his door. He continued to sulk by himself, as men tend to do. The knock came a second time, and a third. On the third knock, he jumped up and flung open the door and, quite dramatically, yelled, “What is your business?” The prince looked up and down the hallway, but only when he looked down did he see a tiny little man with devilish physical qualities. He had a long vertical scar that extended from the top of his head, continuing down past his face and neck, as if he had once been cut in half and crudely sewn back together.

“Why have you not come down to your ball?” The tiny little man asked. Afraid to confess his weakness, the prince said, “I am simply not in the mood.” The tiny little man, unsurprised at the response, said, “In exchange for your king scepter, I shall give you this enchanted apple, which will bring you only joy and bliss.” This is not the poisoned apple that we all know, but I would like to take a moment to warn you not to take food from strangers. The prince is no role model here.

The prince hesitated only briefly before handing over his scepter, as family heirlooms full of power mean nothing compared to happiness and all the single ladies. And he happily spent the night down in the ballroom dancing with several of the eligible women, forgetting his woes and his dead mother, if only for now. It will be the official party line that there was only dancing on the dance floor, and everyone returned to their own rooms alone at a reasonable hour.

On the second day of the ball, the prince stayed in his quarters of the castle for the first half of the night, only slightly hungover. This night, he did not know how he was going to choose his bride, especially without his mother to guide him. As he sat alone, there was again a knock at his door. The prince got up and opened the door; there the tiny little man stood again, carrying the scepter. “Why have you not come down to your ball?” The tiny little man asked. “I am afraid I will choose the wrong bride,” said the prince. “In exchange for your crown, I will tell you how to pick the right one,” the tiny little man said.

The prince once again agreed, handing over his crown, and the tiny little man said to him, “Go and find the poorest maiden, the miller’s daughter. She will make the perfect queen for you.” No sooner had he stepped into the ballroom, did he see the perfect bride. She was alone, dressed modestly. She was not overly made up, covered in jewels and feathers like some of the others he had encountered. She had no glass slippers and was able to keep her shoes on throughout the whole evening, unlike one young maiden we know. She seemed sweet and down-to-earth. Love at first sight? Sure. Why not? It’s a fairy tale after all.

The tiny little man stayed in the prince’s bedroom long after he had gone. The goblin-like figure removed his own hat and placed the jeweled crown on his head and sat down at the queen’s old vanity. Unable to see himself in the mirror, he stood on the little chair, and stared at his reflection. The elegantly crafted mirror contrasted greatly with the dirty, disfigured dwarf man reflected it in.

The prince stayed in his quarters of the castle for the first half of the night once again on the third and final night of the ball. Thank god it’s the last night of this thing; I feel bad for the servants who has to do the cleaning up. They’re actual people by the way, not furniture. This isn’t Disney. The prince did not know how he was going to propose because that is big deal, you know. However, the prince is the most eligible bachelor in the northern hemisphere, any girl should be lucky to have him, even if he is weak, a mere puppet waiting for his woman to claim ownership of his strings.

The prince stayed in the open doorway, waiting for the tiny little man to appear and ask, as he had the past two nights, “Why have you not come down to your ball?” These things must happen in three’s, you know. It’s like fairy tale law. When the tiny little man did arrive, however, he did not ask the prince anything. He stood, wearing the crown and holding the scepter, all the bling that makes a king a king. “I will grant you the perfect proposal on one condition, in one year I will return and take your place as King,” said the tiny little man. The prince thought this was absurd, but he still agreed.

Now, you might be wondering, why would the King agree to give up everything that makes him a king? In his defense, and this is the one and only time I will defend him, he probably didn’t believe that giving up his crown and scepter would be giving up his kingdom. However, people worship material goods. Did I mention the crown was Gucci? As the prince waltzed into the ballroom, the perfect proposal sprang into mind, and he forgot all about the promise he made the tiny little man. By the next night, him and his Queen were married. Long engagements aren’t really a thing in fairy tales if you never noticed.

The wedding was of course grand. The Queen wore a beautiful, feathery white dress. The King wore his best black pants and white shirt, adding on a red, kingly robe with golden tassels and medallions. Many of the guests from the ball had returned home, jealous of the bride. The entire town came excitedly to see the royal wedding, thousands of red and white roses, the giant cake, covered in carefully crafted flowers made of chocolate and grand enough to feed every guest. Most of the guests were forced to peer in through windows, stand in the back, or in front of the open doors, for the tiny chapel on the castle grounds was too small to house everyone.

The day after the wedding, the queen’s attitude changed. Now aware of her queenly duties, she took control of the kingdom with a fierce passion. The king put up no fight to the queen’s controlling behavior, but with each passing day, he missed his mother more and more.

You guessed where the story goes next: one year later. And yes, the queen has bore a child - a daughter. There’s no birth control in fairy tales. Now we have the perfect little traditional family: a husband, the wife that controls him behind closed doors, and a perfect, beautiful baby. It’s a shame something always goes wrong at that point. At least no evil fairy will come and curse this baby girl. Once again, wrong story.

The tiny little man appeared at the king’s doorstep. He carried with him the king’s scepter and wore the king’s crown. As he was brought before the king, the king laughed at the tiny little man as he remembered the promise he’d made, “Do you really expect to take my throne?” The king motioned for the guards to remove the tiny little man, but they did not move. “He’s got the Gucci crown!” One guard shouted. The tiny, little man smiled, “I believe you owe me a throne, wife, and daughter.” I know, this part of the story seems a little unrealistic, but if you’ve believed the rest of it so far, just go with it.

When the prince didn’t immediately move out of his way, the tiny little man started to become frustrated. He shouted incoherently at the king, at the guards, becoming red in the face. He had just raised his foot to stomp it in his explosive rage when he forced himself to relax. The last sewing job hadn’t turned out too well, he couldn’t tear himself in two again. He glared at the guards, waving the scepter.

The king was shocked as his own guards approached him and grabbed his arms. “Take him away,” the tiny little man said with a flick of his arm. He grinned as he sat down in his new throne. The king’s mother had been smarter than he, but Rumpelstiltskin can outsmart a young man, apparently, it’s not too hard to in fairytales.

His new queen glanced over at him from her throne. She had remained quiet throughout the ordeal and did not appear upset over the change in king. “Cool scar,” she said. Before Rumpelstiltskin could respond however, she had gone off in her thoughts and orders about the next steps she wanted to take in the kingdom. He could not get in a word.

And in the dungeon of his very own kingdom, the king awaited his fate, at the very best he might return to a life of work and poverty that his mother once came from, and at the very worst he might be expected to spin straw into gold. Either scenario allowed the king a sense of peace; however, and the dark, damp dungeon allowed him to recede back into the grief he had never been able to properly address. He stared into the darkness, his puppet strings lay across his lap, useless and his own.

I find the “unhappy” ending refreshing. But, I suppose if you prefer a happy ending, or if you’re afraid of telling your children the ugly aspects of life, feel free to cancel out that last line and bullshit some story about how the king bust his way out of the dungeon, stole a sword from the guards and fought them off and rescued his wife and daughter from the scary little man that had taken over. People change stories to fit their agenda all the time. Your call.